There are two granny smith apples in the basket, slightly bruised and aging out.
The thought of eating one sets my teeth on edge. I don’t know why I buy them.
It’s a repeating pattern with me and fruit. I have unfettered access
and there’s room in my cart, but is that reason enough?
I sit with the ethereal miracle of vibrant green, tangerine, and sweet potato
in the loosely woven wicker that holds things together for now.
Minutes and hours fall from the heavy sky. I keep watch,
and in my own way, I pray.
There’s tea steeping and a bag of chips open in case God comes by.
She likes the salt. I like the company. I try to be accepting,
not greedy, not demanding, not intrusive, not filled
with expectations. Just quiet and receptive.
But it sucks. It’s harder than winter.
The God small in each of us is to blame for tart apples and the long seasons
of discontent. We are unskilled at listening, even less skilled at loving.
I hear God in the hallway, dragging something behind her walker.
It must be laundry day.
Well, I can’t wait forever. I have errands and obligations.
I understand how the self-important God of billions
might ignore me now and then, but the laundry lady?
When God embodies thus, the roles reverse.
She’ll ask me for quarters and for help
folding her flannel sheets.
This reminds me, I have wet laundry in the washer. Thank you, Rita. The colors of nature truly are a miracle, aren’t they? Like that’s all the reminders we need of God’s presence sometimes.
And you, of course, will help her fold the flannel sheets. As would I (I hope!) and all who know the difficulty of folding sheets. Provided that we were paying attention enough to realized we’d been asked.
Yes, what is it with sheets? And the well-made bed that we must all lie in which we made ourselves….I wonder who invented sheets. But no matter. I sure wish more people had the chance to sleep warm and well. Thanks for checking in.
When you two are done folding your sheets, would you send her over here? I still can’t get the fitted sheet folded just right. And just right is the goal, isn’t it?
Short visits with an honest God 
This reminds me, I have wet laundry in the washer. Thank you, Rita. The colors of nature truly are a miracle, aren’t they? Like that’s all the reminders we need of God’s presence sometimes.
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Yes–the vibrance of creation makes me want to splash color everywhere. I hope you got those sheets out. I HATE it when things mildew :).
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And you, of course, will help her fold the flannel sheets. As would I (I hope!) and all who know the difficulty of folding sheets. Provided that we were paying attention enough to realized we’d been asked.
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Yes, what is it with sheets? And the well-made bed that we must all lie in which we made ourselves….I wonder who invented sheets. But no matter. I sure wish more people had the chance to sleep warm and well. Thanks for checking in.
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When you two are done folding your sheets, would you send her over here? I still can’t get the fitted sheet folded just right. And just right is the goal, isn’t it?
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Absolutely not. Good enough is good enough. The goal is the same old thing: Be nice. And nice enough is nice enough, too :).
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Oh my goodness, this is very thought provoking. I’m sitting here trying to be quiet and receptive.😀
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